


The Spitting Image of a Gryffindor

by FrillyPinkUmbrella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Feels, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots having problems, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Unstable relationship, prongsfoot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrillyPinkUmbrella/pseuds/FrillyPinkUmbrella
Summary: Prongsfoot long fic. Expect lots of drama and some smut w/ pent-up feelings :)





	1. Manipulation - Part One

The warm candlelight of the library dances off Sirius’s smooth, wavy hair, and it somehow makes him appear less like a prankster and more like an angel. He’s alone in the corner where the Marauders usually reserve for themselves, surrounded by piles of books with a roll of parchment splayed across his lap. To anyone other than a Marauder, he’d look like he’s studying for a particularly important exam. But James strongly supposes he’s only acting on something he mentioned this morning, something about brewing Felix Felicis singlehandedly and slipping it into Evans’s drink, see how she’ll try and hook up with James then.

Presently, Sirius flips his hair in a cheeky flourish. Grey eyes peek through two towers of books and meets James’s through their two-way mirror.

“You’re late.”

James shrugs. “Yeah, McGonagall found out about the prank yesterday and caught me. Got a little telling off.”

“Just that?”

“That and fifty points off Gryffindor. She’d have put me in detention, too, if she didn’t have a conference with the headmaster tonight.”

Sirius hums, impressed. “You and your luck. Maybe you can share some of it with Evans? Then I won’t have to bother with Mister Felix...This is more complicated than I thought, by the way.”

“How would I _share_ my luck with someone? Besides, I don’t agree with that prank. In fact, I hate it.” James tries a scowl.

Sirius is unaffected. “Yeah, well, you’re on your way here, though?”

“In a second.”

He’s already planning it out in his head: he’ll bounce onto Sirius’s lap, knock over all the useless piles of books, and distract him with his seduction for the next hour. Oh yeah—mustn’t forget _Muffliato_ before that.

 

James is just rounding the corner when he hears it.

“ _Fuck you!_ ”

He hears that coming from Sirius every day, but he immediately senses there’s something actually _wrong_ this time. James dares himself to look.

Sure, Sirius has got the usual pose down to each usual detail alright, his wand whipped up against Snivellus’s face (not quite touching though—he would die before any of his possessions so much as _touched_ the old bastard) with his trademark Snivellus look that says he _would_ shove it up his arse, actually, if the idea wasn’t so entirely revolting that it made him sick.

But there’s something wrong to it—so _utterly_ wrong—the way that Sirius is so _worked up_. James has never heard him say “fuck you” like he actually _means_ it, like this time it’s not just a degrading, sideways insult, an indifferent “no one gives a shit, go away.” It’s a fuck you that wants to _hurt,_ and really _badly_ , for that matter. It’s a fuck you that chills James to the bone, and it’s not even directed at _him_.

Something has obviously gone horribly wrong. An odd sight, too: Sirius crowding Snivellus against the wall and then there’s _Regulus,_ right beside them. What kind of fucked up circumstance brought these three together, James can only imagine, while he stands stock-still and open-mouthed in the corridor right outside the library. No one sees him.

Regulus audibly sucks in a breath.

“Sirius—“

“Oh, _don’t you fucking ‘Sirius’ me!_ ”

Sirius doesn’t even look at his brother while he holds the death-glare on Snape at maximum intensity, which is actually really intense. He’s absolutely _shaking_ with rage, muscles twitching visibly and knuckles whitening around his wand as he grips it tighter, so white that it looks inhumane. For a moment James expects him to hex Snape, or knock him out with a muggle punch, or at least do _something_ , but all he does is give his wand a violent shake like he can’t even decide what Snape should _deserve_ this time around.

Then he hisses something at him through gritted teeth, and Snape has the guts to wear this sort of _interested_ look, like Sirius just confided in him a secret bit of Dark magic.

James wants to call out, snap Sirius into his senses and get the heck out of there, but before he can act on it, Sirius is already releasing his binding charm on Snape, yanking Regulus’s arm and dragging him away in one furious sweep. And James can’t believe it— Sirius just _left_ Snape, and Sirius _never_ backs off without a fight.

Snape blinks stupidly, with a fuck-I-can’t-believe-I-got-away-with-this written on his face for a millisecond, before he throws a half-arsed smirk carelessly in James’s direction.

“Don’t you need to go kiss your boyfriend’s arse?” He says quietly.

James isn’t even in the mood to retort, and that’s impossible. He’s _always_ in the mood to humiliate Snivellus in any ridiculous, creative way possible.

Instead, he stays calm, his voice cold enough to freeze the entire Black Lake.

“What have you done to Sirius?”

“Protective, I like it.” Snape sniggers and smooths down his robes, acting all _composed_ and shit as if he hadn’t been scared out of his mind of Sirius just a while ago, because James just fucking _knows_ he was.

Before James can have him bound once more and summon his stash of illegal Veritaserum from his dorm, Snape saunters away. And even the sight of the retreating over-greased excuse of hair doesn’t prompt James to budge.

 

Sirius isn’t there at the Great Hall, and James shouts his name into his mirror.

Sirius might have well just flung his mirror out the window— there’s absolutely nothing on the other end, even though James’s voice must be tearing his ears into pieces by now.

James stuffs his mirror back into his pocket, fuming.

Moony looks at him inquiringly.

“Well?”

“What?”

“Are you going to tell us what happened to Sirius or is this another protective boyfriend thing you’re going to pull off?”

“Fucking _stop_ with that ‘protective boyfriend thing!’”

Moony’s eyes widen in shock and confused apology as he leans back on his chair.

James’s eyes land on his food. _Who even calls this grey stuff food? The house elves, apparently._

“Look, I don’t know what happened, okay?” James grunts at his dinner. “No more than you do. I was going to meet up with him in the library. He seemed cheerful enough through the mirror not even five minutes before I reached. Then he was there with Snape and Regulus—“

“Regulus?” Peter chirps in all curious, like it’s one of those times where they’re gossiping harmlessly about girls.

But this isn’t some random _bird_ at school, this is _Sirius_ , and James feels fire lap at his insides.

“Sirius’s brother, you retard.”

Peter snaps his mouth shut and ducks his face behind piles of food.

Remus frowns at him.

“James, what the hell? Of course we know who Regulus is. Why was he _there_ , is what we want to know.”

“I’d tell you if I knew! He’s not even answering the mirror!” James says indignantly.

They finish their meal in silence—well, Remus and Peter do, more like.

“Anyway, he can’t join us at the moon tonight ‘cause he’s got detention. Snape probably ratted him out.” Remus says nonchalantly, like it’s not the fucking _moon_ tonight, like he’s not even minutely upset about the fact that it’s the first time since the other three turned into animagi that anyone failed to turn up.

Well, James _is_ upset. He’s goddamn furious.

“What? Why hasn’t he told me?” He snaps.

“I’d tell you if I knew.”

Remus is looking at him strangely, as if by not knowing every corner of Sirius’s mind, he’s failed _Remus_. Like he suspects something’s wrong with James and Sirius, and he’s trying to figure it out like a cool, I’m-above-this-teenage-drama detective even though he has no fucking business in it.

James is seething at this point. _How dare he, how dare he_. And it’s not Remus, or Peter, or even Snivellus. It’s not.

He doesn't know what's up with Sirius.

 

James is so not ready to face the Moon on a night like this, which means that it’s even worse for Moony.

 _Someone_ isn’t here, and as much as James doesn’t give a flying fuck about him, it actually affects the sensitive werewolf quite a bit. Now he’s outrages, because just what kind of shit person abandons their friend over some random _detention_?

Remus looks positively miserable. His head snaps back in agony and begins the longest transformation James has ever seen.

Even after it’s happened, his first howl is so blood-curdling and despairing and just _confused_ like even the wolf senses that something vital is missing.

James, in his stag form, trots over and snuggles up to the wolf’s side tentatively, expecting a bite or something— _anything_ that can provide as a distraction for its misery.

Instead, Moony only stays still and lets out this small _whimper_ and it’s almost like it’s asking for comfort.

Wormtail, the useless asshole of a rat, is fidgeting with his tiny paws and staring. If he was in his human form, James is pretty sure he’d be spluttering, the awkward fucker.

Maybe he’s being a bit unfair— after all, Wormtail isn’t the one who’s _missing_.

Then, James hears the unmistakable snapping sounds of twigs being stepped on at the roots of the Willow. He sighs in relief despite himself. Sirius must have decided not to be a dick about everything after all and kicked detention.

But Moony’s fur is bristling and standing on end, prickling James’s side. He looks up, alarmed—this isn’t how Moony responds to Padfoot.

Then he sees him. Just fucking standing there, wand held loosely by his side like his life isn’t in the most dangerous situation his stinking arse has ever got itself in. What is fucking wrong today? It’s _Snivellus_ , and James can’t even think, he can’t _think_.

Biting down his urge to change back into a human just to steam himself off by spitting words at him—and oh, he can come up with a _few_ things he might want to shout at Snape’s greasy nose at this moment—he instinctively stands in the space between the old bastard and Moony. _You must be more retarded than I thought, Snape. If you get killed tonight, you’ll actually deserve it,_ he all but conveys with his eyes, but he doesn’t move out of the way and let Moony have his way with him. His four hooves stand solidly on the creaky floor of the Shack, waiting for the blow.

Behind him, Moony cries out this agonizing, terrible howl that’s somehow even worse than how he sounded during tonight’s transformation, and it splits apart James’s poor deer ears. There’s a swift scuffle right beside him and in one blink, Moony is leaping on top of the very human Severus Snape, moments from ripping him into bloody shreds with his knife-like nails. And it really fucking hurts James to see his beloved, selfless Moony turn into a bloodthirsty fucking monster, and suddenly he doesn’t see Moony so much as he sees _Remus_ , and there’s this horrible urge to stop whatever this is from happening so that his best friend wouldn’t transform back the next morning and try to comprehend how he’d become a murderer overnight.

 _That’s_ what bolts him into action, James tells himself. The thought of Remus becoming the monster that he’d always feared that he was already. The only real thing that Remus ever actually hated—the dark, helpless version of himself. It’s not because he wants to keep Snivellus alive, hell no, it has certainly _nothing_ to do with that, no thank you. Snivellus can self-immolate in protest for pure-blood supremacy for all he cares, and James wouldn’t give a damn. He does this for _Moony_.

James connects his massive antlers to the wolf’s side and pierces him with their sharp edges, throwing him off of the shivering, wailing, idiotic Slytherin. But then, it also forces Moony to give out a painful howl that still manages to sound pretty fucking dangerous. Every cell in the deer’s body screams in guilt, but he has to do this, he _has_ to, there’s no other choice…

Snape scrambles up and actually thrashes his wand around, and now ropes are flying everywhere, bits of it wrapping around the wolf’s hind legs, and James just wants to head-butt Snape. That would surely be painful to him, what with all his proud antlers. But Moony is suffering, he’s yipping and yowling in anguish because being tied up brings back his worst memories of being locked up in his basement back before Hogwarts, and James remembers that, so he steps wildly on the ropes with his difficult hooves, helping Moony out.

But Snape is not having it so easily, no sir, he still has to be a git about it and not run for his life. Rope after rope appears in pieces, and each time it becomes longer, more tighter around Moony, cutting into his long silky furs.

It’s going to be a long night, and James plunges right in.

 

James’s lungs are heaving. If deer even have lungs. He can’t even think about trivial thoughts like that right now because the dickhead is _still_ here, and it must have been almost an _hour_ since he first showed up. He’s been trying to keep Moony and Snape as far away as possible within the quite restricting space of the Shack, while Wormtail scurries around and tries to bite Snape’s wand off of his fingers, sometimes actually succeeding. But every moment that James’s concentration slips an inch - which no one has the right to blame him over since he signed up for being na _animagus_ and not a fucking lifeguard - Moony rips free of the controlling antlers and goes thrashing madly at Snape, and Wormtail can’t even keep his pathetic squeals to himself as he abruptly lets go of his hold on Snape’s wand. James is about to crash his own head into a wall, really he would do that, if he wasn’t supposed to be preoccupied with something else. If Snape whipping out ropes and—wow, wait for it—fucking _collars_ out of the blue isn’t maddening enough, it’s Wormtail’s cowardice that completely drives him nuts. It’s almost like Wormtail’s _helping_ Snape out, giving his wand back in an instant so at least Snape can ward Moony off and _protect_ him. And the wolf’s supposed to be _harmless_ around animals.

When it’s normally the Marauders versus Snivellus, somehow tonight the tables are turned. James is stuck alone and fighting for his friend’s dignity on one side, while said friend attempts to kill Snivellus over and over and his other friend helps prolong the situation. Where is Sirius when he absolutely fucking _needs_ him? Fuck— _Sirius,_ he almost forgot— why the hell isn’t he _here_ yet?

 

As if on cue, James’s ears perk up as he hears twigs snapping again, between the crazed yelps and cries echoing down the hallway. A heartbeat later, the shaggy dog appears and it’s just standing there, silent and still, taking a moment to let the scene sink in. Right, _right_. _Go ahead, see what you’ve done to me, to all of us. Just take a deep breath and really let it sink in that the jerk decided to show up on the one night you decided not to show up._

But Padfoot’s not really looking at the _scene_. He’s staring fixedly at _James_ , why he doesn’t even know, as if a young, wild wolf trying to pierce its teeth into a human being is all well and good background ambience.

And that’s when James _loses_ it. He darts towards the dog and knocks his bloody antlers into him, urging him into proper consciousness, making him _see_ what’s been going on during his absence because of his stupid row with Snape and his stupid succeeding detention. He does it over and over, flailing around his antlers—and they’re huge and thick, mind—and throwing the dog around madly, but every single time Padfoot simply tumbles back onto his feet and silently  _waits_ for the next blow. Has Snape messed with his mind? He’s not even _retaliating,_ for fuck’s sake, like he doesn’t care how much he gets hurt because he deserves all that pain and then some, and he only acts like this when— when—

_When he knows he’s done something wrong._

James can’t _think_ , no he can’t - after all, deer don’t have that much brain power. That and the fact that the commotion behind him is getting real hard to ignore. He whips his head around and in an instant registers that Snape is bloody close to dying: all slumped against the wall while a mouse scurries helplessly around his ankle, blood gushing out from gashes all across his body, heaving audibly, and even in this moment his ego is preventing him from yelling out for help. Moony bays out in threat and terrible glee as he rears back on his hind legs and hoists his front legs up high, preparing for two mental strikes onto Snape’s sorry form.

James is still figuring out what the hell he’s supposed to do when suddenly Padfoot is there in the scene, acting out a fucking _hero_ in a muggle movie, snapping his jaws onto Moony’s front leg, mid-murderous-swipe. Moony yelps in pain, and suddenly his other front leg is striking Padfoot. Padfoot doesn’t even so much as grunt as he continues to attack him, biting him wherever he can, not hard enough to bleed but hard enough to push him back, away from Snape…

James jerks into consciousness and rushes over to Snape, examining his body and taking mental notes of where the worst injuries are. Snape has his eyes closed tight and he's pale and he’s breathing heavily, but for the moment he still looks like stinking Snivellus as always, which is as healthy as his grease permits him to be. James instantly forgets his worry and remembers that he’s supposed to _hate_ him, oh yes, he’s his _arch nemesis_.

Then Moony makes this funny yipping noise, and James turns just in time to see him halt. He falls back onto all four legs and starts wagging his fucking tail—James didn’t even know that wolves _did_ that—and panting joyfully at the sight before him that he _just_ registered—namely, Padfoot. Padfoot barks out happily and nudges his snout into the wolf’s neck, and James can actually hear him crooning: _noticed finally that it’s me, have you, my dear Moony, it’s me, it’s me!_ and the wolf nudges back, their murderous battle a moment ago all but forgiven and forgotten.

Although James would simply _love_ to stand there in his fury for a few seconds before galloping over and hauling both of his canine friends onto his back to hurl them around, he actually has a life to save. He takes advantage of Moony’s current distraction and turns back into a human, runs over to Snape and starts healing him with his wand and actually _saving his life_. James must be dreaming, yes, that must be it.

After a few seconds of accusatory staring and raised eyebrows, rationality finally kicks in inside Snape’s demented head and he leaves. Not that James was expecting an apology or a single note of gratitude, mind.

 

“I’m sorry,” is what Sirius mumbles out the next morning, literally those words in that order, _I’m sorry_. Plus, he has the guts to avoid meeting James’s glare.

“You’re sorry? _Sorry?_ That’s good to know, really Pads, very convenient, after missing the moon over a fucking _detention._ ”

Sirius sighs, looking all genuine. “Look, _I’m sorry,_ alright? I got you all into a hell of a lot of trouble, I know that, and I feel responsible. It won’t happen again.”

“Right, yeah, you must feel—wait, what?”

Gears grind together and scrape the sides of James’s head, sparks flaking at the friction—after all, it was a tough all-nighter—but—

“What do you mean, you _got_ us into trouble? Responsible? You feel responsible? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I… what?” Sirius lifts his head up and meets James's eyes.

Confusion meets confusion.

“What do you feel responsible for?” James urges.

Sirius blinks, surprised. “For… for everything?”

“Everything? You mean going to that fucking detention, right?”

“What? Detention?”

“You _had_ detention, didn’t you? Hang on—did you _lie_ to us _?_ Did you—did Snape manage to fuck you up so bad that you decided not to show up on the moon on _purpose?_ ” James is outraged at this point, his fingers tugging at his own hair mindlessly.

“Detention… no, yeah, I had detention.” Sirius says quietly, almost like an afterthought.

The whites of his eyes are glowing oddly. The lips that usually look so kissable to the level of annoying don’t look kissable at all—and not only because James doesn’t feel like kissing anyone so much as kicking someone in the shins right now. It’s the way those lips are stretched up too tight and too straight, too _wrong_. And Sirius’s entire face is ghastly, no sign of _life_ —

“Sirius. Spit it out.”

Sirius fucking _hesitates_. In front of James, his _boyfriend_. And James can’t live with this for a moment longer, no, he needs to know _now_ , what got Sirius fucked up so bad that he thinks he can even _entertain_ the idea of holding back something from him…

James gets a hold of his collar. “I said fucking spit it _out!_ ”

Sirius winces. James has—he’s _never_ seen Sirius wince like that, looking so vulnerable, so lost. His eyes plead with James wordlessly.

“James…you…I thought you’d already worked it out…”

“Well, quite obviously, my dumbass brain hasn’t reached there yet, so why don’t you just spell it out for me,” James says, voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. The last thing he wants is to scare Sirius off, though such a thing hardly seems possible—at least, he _thought_ so, before he saw him all strange and reserved like _this._

Sirius takes a shaky breath and looks down at his feet.

“Snape…I told him.”

_Right. Now he’s gonna pull the play-it-vague card on me._

James is about to scream. “You told him what? You told him--“

A horrid, unspeakable thought. 

“ _No_ , you didn’t…No? You didn’t?”

“I did.”

Everything is numb.

“You told him about… _Moony?_ ” This is stupid, his heart is being stupid, hammering loudly like this is actually possible—

“Yeah.” Sirius whispers.

James’s stupid heart turns out to be right, and it drops to his stomach. His brain shuts down.

Sirius’s head is bowed, and all James is gaping at for a second is a tumbling mass of rich, dark hair. He doesn’t know what he does next. Tears at that hair, shouts, hits, runs, cries. He doesn’t know.

Sirius Black was— _not_ what he thought him to be, not the boy he thought he loved.

He was a stranger.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A limited third-person POV is something I don't usually use in fanfiction. This style (all-frustrated-teenager-ish-voice) is all new to me, so apologies if it comes across as clumsy.  
> Thoughts, thoughts!!


	2. Manipulation - Part Two

Because his never-ending tears and snot had ruined the pillow, he’d abandoned it and moved onto the sheets. Now, the sheets are soaked.

James is not used to crying. He’s a tough bloke and he’s an achiever. Quidditch Captain, star Gryffindor Chaser, Straight O student, Head Boy, and unofficial but pretty much unanimously the hottest looking guy at school…

Or second hottest. Maybe.

Probably.

An image of his best friend snaps into focus yet again. Smooth hair reaching down to the chin, styled in a way only a Black is capable of doing without coming off as fake: his expensive styling wax coating the strands with a faint sheen, coming undone at James’s rough touch. What’s addicting is how he just _allows_ it to happen, with nothing more than a hint of a smirk teasing around his lips, eyes fixed on James as the latter inevitably grows more impatient. And now he can _smell_ him, that light, tempting scent of something like sweet peppermint, or rather like the enchanting smell of the Forbidden Forest at sunset, after classes, on a golden Autumn day.

Hang on, James is _actually_ smelling it right now—it’s definitely not in his imagination.

His bed— yes, his _bed_. That makes sense. Of course. They’ve shagged on it countless of times. Just yesterday, they did. Sirius splayed out in front of him, on _his_ bed, with that pretentious styling wax rubbing off on _his_ sheets as he writhed and moaned and whispered, _“James”_ —

He _can’t._ He _shouldn’t_. That’s a thing of the past, and it deserves its spot inside a locked drawer of his memory. If he’s going to have any chance at moving on, he has to start right the fuck now, never even think about that fucking drawer again.

Tear-soaked bedding starts to chill his bare skin and he struggles up.

Already, the first chime of the day vibrates through the castle walls and up Gryffindor Tower, and he can’t come up with a single excuse to explain Slughorn for being late.

 

James and Sirius sit apart. They haven’t done this in forever, which is why, James reasons, it feels like such a huge deal. It shouldn’t be, in reality. Sirius is still there, some ten feet away. James watches his hair hanging low over his textbook and his pale hand closing around his quill loosely while he takes lazy notes, and he can almost _see_ that ornate, stuck-up cursive handwriting that all but screams old money. Once or twice, Sirius looks over and makes a sad, will-you-forgive-me-I’ll-do-anything face in his direction and James has to hastily turn away.

“James?” Peter says as they walk out of potions, just to make sure that his friend is still alive and well.

“What, Peter.”

Peter shrugs, satisfied for the moment.

James is sure as hell not satisfied. Being furious at Sirius doesn’t mean that he’s forgotten about how pissed he is at Peter and his cowardly behavior at the moon.

“You know you’re a coward, Peter?”

Peter frowns and looks down.

“Yeah, I guess.”

James isn’t listening, but Peter mistakes his silence as some excessive type of rage immune to linguistic expression.

“James—I—I’m working on it,” he stutters, alarmed.

“Huh?”

“I tried, you see—towards the end—I stopped giving Snape his wand back—”

“That’s because Moony stopped attacking him.”

“Yeah, no, but—Hey look, Sirius—“

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“No, I mean, literally, look—it’s him—“

Sirius is sashaying down the corridor all by himself with his book bag hitched low on his shoulder, tugging back his collar. James concludes he’s doing that on purpose—never mind he always wears his bag like that— because the shallow gashes from last night are quite intentionally being displayed on his collarbone like crimson badges of honor. It doesn’t help that Sirius is about the most popular as anyone can get in a school full of mindless, giggling girls such as Hogwarts. Frequently, James’sline of sight is intercepted by a faceless herd of swooning girls, each trying to catch a glimpse of the fresh, mysterious marks on his “sexy” skin. Or dare they even hope for Sirius to catch a glimpse of _them._ And James has to remind himself every single time that he’s a _gentleman,_ and acts like hexing an innocent girl doesn’t even cross his mind.

And why, you may ask, is _James_ so intent on keeping a watch on Sirius?

James doesn’t know, but it’s definitely not because he wants to drool over his “romantic” injuries, ugh. They’re just fucking injuries—if you’d care to know, James had _double_ those last night, only _he_ had the common sense to heal them before showing up in public.

“When are you going to talk to him?” Peter whispers.

“Who gave you the idea that I’m ever going to talk to him?”

Peter gawks.

“B-but—he—he’s your _boyfriend._ ” He whispers the last word like it’s special or something.

“Pete. Just. Not now.”

Their one-sided conversations continue on during classes and lunch and yet more classes. James wants yesterday back so much that the back of his eyes begins to hurt. He wants Sirius back, the two of them, casually giving each other blowjobs beneath the invisibility cloak in their favorite corner of the library and arguing over whether Sirius’s next prank on Lily Evans is ethical. He wants Sirius _and_ Remus back, the four of them, the good old inseparable Marauders. None of them a would-be murderer or a heartless betrayer or a simple mousy coward, just four very close friends with nothing coming in between them.

Eventually, James guesses that at least half of his determination on keeping an eye on Sirius is from worry: James expects him to burst out at any moment, during class or during break, in a fit of anger or madness or god-knows-what and freak everyone the hell out if not actually kill someone. The other half is somewhat a dare—their ongoing unhealthy game, even as they give each other the silent treatment: James waits and waits for that precise pinpoint of a moment when Sirius’s walls break down and he comes kneeling at James’s feet, sobbing, instead of making those useless puppy-dog eyes at him.

_Just you wait, Black, You can’t hold off for much longer._

It doesn’t happen.

Well, not today.

 

It’s dinner time, and although James doesn’t expect Sirius to bounce over to him all of a sudden, he also doesn’t expect him to be seated at the Slytherin table, of all tables. Talking to his _brother,_ of all people.

He wouldn’t even describe it as _talking,_ either— Sirius is mumbling fervently into Regulus’s ear like the world is depending on whether or not Regulus takes the message. His fists are thudding onto the table in short intervals, emphasizing his emphases. James slides into a Gryffindor seat closest to the two of them but with his back toward them, curiosity overtaking his determination to stay away. Unfortunately, the distance seems to be too great, or Sirius’s voice too small, and the only thing he can make out is the deep _thump, thump, thump-thumps_ of Sirius’s fists hitting the wood. It’s strangely rhythmical in a hypnotizing sort of way. James would guess he was indoctrinating his dear old brother on some weird shit if he even had a faint idea of _what,_ exactly.

Regulus stays silent for the whole time until he says “see you” in an audible voice. Out of the corner of his eye, James sees Sirius walking briskly down the aisle and out the great doors, his school robes billowing dramatically.

He leaves in the opposite direction to the one leading to Gryffindor. Not that James cares, as long as he’s not setting out on another mental mission to traumatize or murder someone.

 

He sits in an armchair by the fire in the common room, trying to study and trying not to wait for Sirius. He has no idea where he’s gone, but he’s guessing he’s lazing around in the library or some empty classroom just to delay their inevitable meeting.

Some hours later, he gives up and leaves for his dorm, but his four-poster bed feels too unnecessarily wide without Sirius and the addicting smell of Sirius too inappropriate for the moment. Cold air whooshes in and out carelessly through the gap in his heart, the unusual emptiness of the dorm unnerving him—Peter, snoring in the corner, is the only other present in the room, as Remus is currently fighting to keep his limbs together in the hospital wing.

With a jolt, James realizes that he hasn’t _once_ visited Remus yet and he swears at himself. Heartbreak hardly stands as an excuse.

 

There’s a soft light shining from behind the curtains and James halts in his tracks. If Remus is _awake_ at this hour because of too much pain or some shit, he thinks he’ll actually track Sirius down and make him kneel and apologize to Remus by the fucking bed.

He slides open the curtains, quietly, and it just so happens that there’s someone else already paying their ridiculous sympathies. As if _they_ aren’t the one who caused this irreplaceable, utter mess in the first place.

From what he can make out in the meager candlelight, Sirius is staring back at him, his eyes all swollen and red. Quite obviously, he’s been crying. James has hardly ever seen him shed a tear, _but,_ he thinks, _he should consider himself lucky that James hasn’t made sure he’s dead yet_.

It’s impossible and in some twisted way, laughable, how Sirius just decided to show up beside an unconscious Remus after what he _did_. Any third observer would suppose that he’s visiting his best friend because he’s sincerely worried about his physical state. He hardly looks like a betrayer.

It incenses James beyond everything that Sirius would even _dare_ to look like this, appear like he’s _sorry,_ like he’d do anything to take last night back. James is angry and tense and just fucking confused because he still isn’t over it yet—how _could_ he? How _could_ Sirius just do this?

Presently, Sirius drops his gaze from James and sits back on his chair, eyes now fixed a tad too intently on Remus’s sleeping face. A nerve on his temple twitches.

James realizes he’s looking at the wrong person and shifts his attention onto Remus. He settles down on an empty chair and leans back, mocking Sirius.

Sirius shows no conscious sign of noticing it, but James can read his body language all too well. His shoulders are a bit slumped, sagging at the effort to put up a tough front.

That’s how the long night begins. The three of them, silent in the deep, indifferent dark.

 

Sometime during the night, James vaguely wonders if Sirius has fallen asleep—not that he gives a shit—when suddenly Sirius sucks in a cautious breath.

“Don’t,” James warns before Sirius can utter a word.

Sirius’s mouth snaps shut.

James darts a glance at him.

A tendon in his jaw is shifting back and forth, itching to get something out. But apart from that, he gives away no hints whatsoever to indicate that he’s even remotely affected by the dismissal.

There’s that hateful _ache_ in James’s eyes again, and before he can do anything about it, tears are ebbing out and spilling unapologetically onto his lap.

Sirius leaves wordlessly after that, and the curtains flutter closed in his wake.

 

“James,” a voice from somewhere in the dark.

“Sirius?” James murmurs into the void between dream and reality. It’s nice here, all muddled— no anger, no pain. Just numbness.

“It’s me, Remus.”

“Remus?”

James finally peels his eyes open.

He’d fallen asleep on his chair. His neck aches like hell. He gives his back a twist and grunts.

“Fuck.”

Remus chuckles. He’s looking at James softly through half-closed eyes, turning his head a bit at him on his pillow.

“Remmy? How’re you feeling?”

“Not bad.” Remus stretches then, and yawns so loud that James swears it wakes up the whole school.

“Not bad at all, actually.”

They lapse into a peaceful silence while early birds chirp outside.

“Sirius told me,” Remus blurts out suddenly, almost sheepishly.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to be the one to tell you,” James says quietly.

“Yeah…” Remus gazes up at the high ceiling, contemplatively.

“What?” James demands.

“What?” Remus returns, confused.

“What about it? I mean, how do you feel about all of it?”

“Oh. Er… I don’t know.”

“You don’t… _know?_ What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you mad? Aren’t you going completely mental? Don’t you want to take it back? Don’t you want to…to _hurt_ him back?”

“ _Hurt_ him? Why would I want to _hurt_ him? We’re talking about Sirius here, not Snape? James, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. This is about you, not me.”

“Well, for one, _I_ don’t feel like I want to hurt my best friend. And two, of course I want to take it back, I wish it never happened, but Sirius feels that more than I do.”

James snorts at that.

“Right, I just _bet_ he told you that… sobbing all over your unconscious bloody state, _I feel guilty_ and _I’m so sorry_ and all that shit. When I came here he’d been _crying_ , you know? I mean, can you even _believe_ —”

“I know.” Remus cuts off and takes a deep breath. “But he wasn’t crying over _me,_ James, he was crying for _you.”_

Remus looks at him, and James feels his throat closing in on itself.

He swallows.

“Well, too bad for him, huh?” He keeps his tone level.

Remus looks like now _he’s_ going to cry.

“James—he needs to explain it to you, properly—please, James, let him—“

“Fat chance,” James says, then strolls off before he lets himself wipe at his eyes.

 

A bar of Honeydukes chocolate clutched in hand, Sirius saunters down the corridor with squared shoulders, looking straight at James.

_Fuck, what now?_

James brushes past—almost.

“How’s Remus?” Sirius says neutrally.

“How’s Re— _How’s Remus?_ ” James reels.

“Yes, how is he?”

“He—he—oh, you _care_ about him now _?_ ”

Sirius’s blank grey eyes snap shut as he takes a long breath.

James is starts to walk past when a hand closes around his arm, and he snatches it away.

“ _Don’t touch me._ ”

Just then, he _thinks_ he sees some of the bricks crumble on Sirius’s facade. His lips part slightly and his eyes cloud over, betraying a hint of hurt.

“James. I just need to say—I still—Look, I care about him, alright? Remus. And I—“

James talks over him. “Right, why don’t you go blow him a kiss then, see if that’ll blow away what you did to him.”

“The other night was a mistake. A horrible one, I know that—hey—wait—“

 

He skips breakfast yet again and he feels sick and queasy as fuck by the time he goes to his first class.

He’s so caught off guard that he almost throws up when he sees fucking _Remus_ already there, seated and healed and disconcertingly at peace.

James skitters to an empty seat beside him.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here,” he demands.

“I’m taking class, same as you.”

James just sits there and fumes, darting angry glares into his confused eyes.

“James? What’s up?”  
“What’s up? What’s up is that someone almost turned you into a murderer, for starters.”

Remus’s face settles on exasperation. “This again? It’s over now.”

“ _It’s over? Are you—_ are you— really? But _really?_ Are you over it now? Just like that?”

“ _James,_ ” Remus hisses.

The room has gone quiet.

James looks up and finds himself the victim of McGonnagal’s icy attention.

“Thank you, Mr. Lupin,” she says curtly. “Today, we will be looking at how to transfigure a stool into a…”

James does a quick glance around the room and almost instantly finds him. Their eyes meet, and Sirius is trying hard not to show any hurt, his eyes slightly narrowed and mouth set in a hard line.

James only mocks that expression.

 

The moment the chime rings, James tugs on Remus’s sleeve.

“So? Are you over it now?”

“James, _honestly._ Sirius is _dying_ to talk to you, you know.”

“No, I _don’t_ know. Don’t change the subject! Remus—“

“He’s really regretting it, you know.”

“No, I _don’t._ This isn’t about me, you jerk. Why are you so fucking calm about it? Has he told you the whole story? No, I bet he hasn’t. I bet he twisted the story, justified himself. Left out all the gory details. You don’t _know_ what actually happened, Moony.”

Remus looks _bored,_ and James just about loses it there.

They reach the Great Hall in silence with Peter teetering around behind them, nervously.

Once they’ve settled into their seats, James is about to give another stubborn go.

“Fine, then. Pleasure me with all the _details,_ Jamie, if they’re so important,” Remus says before James could push him again, twirling around a spoon in his teacup. His dark red hair is brushed neatly, his collar symmetrical, his tie prim, looking as _Remus_ as always. As in, he’s making James look stupid.

James wants to shake his shoulders and scream or something, but instead he just mocks Remus, taking on his tired, neutral, eye-roll tone.

And he splurges him with the _details:_ the blood, the howls, the fucking _ropes—_ Snivellus snickering despite the hideous gashes all over his face and body, egging the wolf on _—_ the wolf crying in agony and pain and _threat_ , leaping onto Snivellus time after time— James coming in between, flinging Moony off _hard_ and making him bleed and yelp, even as he apologized profusely inside his mind, every part of his body telling him to do it on Snivellus instead— Padfoot missing, then showing up, all because he felt like it. All of it, from a fucking _objective_ point of view.

James finishes, breaths gushing out heavily from his nostrils.

Remus looks pained. “Did you _really_ have to tell me all that?”

“Er, _yes_. Now tell me that you’re fucking _over_ it. C’mon, I dare you to.”

“Go talk to Sirius.”

James shoots up and slams the table, clattering Remus’s ridiculous teacup.

“ _Fuck you!_ ”

 

He’s _over_ crying now, he _really_ is, only his body isn’t listening. So he does sob into his pillow once again that night, and this time he actually has to bother with a _Muffliato_ charm because Remus with his hypersensitive senses is back in the dorm. As for Sirius— James hasn’t heard him come in yet, and it has to be well past midnight by now.

He grabs his Cloak and leaves for a stroll. He definitely _isn’t_ looking for Sirius. He isn’t looking for anything in particular, just a little aimless walk around the castle.

Corridor after dank corridor, he shuffles through in blind determination and struggles to shut down his mind. He’s starting to consider _Obliviate-_ ing himself… but no, that’s about the least Gryffindor thing you could do. Force-forgetting the past doesn’t change the past, and even in sheer heartache, he knows at least _that_.

Without having decided anything, he’s already climbing up the stairs. He instinctively knows he’s inside the Astronomy Tower, making his way up to the observatory. Every braincell screams at him not to do this, to go anywhere _but_ the observatory, and yet his body isn’t listening. He scrambles up, his feet far from slowing down in hesitation, actually speeding up the more he doesn’t want them to. The Astronomy Tower is where James holds his dearest memories with Sirius—not shagging, not even kissing most of the time, just stargazing in this sort of silence that makes you smile—not in the way you’d smile at a joke or a memory, but in the way that you’d breathe when there’s air. The most natural way you can smile. And climbing this spiral staircase, encased in hard stone and damp air, James is about to destroy the one special place he’d shared with Sirius that he still hasn’t quite let go.

 

And that’s when he reaches the landing and sees Sirius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is taking way too long... Just me being me, sorry.  
> I promise you, the next chapter will lead to somewhere brighter :D


	3. Entertainment - Part One

 

James stares at him.

Sirius is alone, his back turned to James, his elbows propped on the railing facing the starry sky. He’s looking up at it, just like how he used to do with James all the time. His hair, gone all loose and wavy because he’s apparently stopped bothering with styling it, is billowing in the steady, chilly wind. Majestic, obnoxiously ethereal. James may have even said _beautiful,_ if times were different.

Out of habit, James’s eyes scan the sky for that one special star and finds it.

“That’s my favorite star,” he mutters, this again out of habit.

Sirius’s silhouette jerks a bit and he swivels around.

He stares right back at James, even as the latter is still supposed to be invisible. James can’t make out his expression in the dark, but that only prompts him to imagine longing and sadness and guilt on it. Sirius _deserves_ all of that, if not more.

“I thought you hated me,” Sirius whispers.

James gulps. He really hadn’t thought this through.

“I still do,” he says, defiantly.

“Then why don’t you take off your Cloak and fight me like a fair dueler, not some stalking creep?”

James scowls and takes off his cloak. Just the sight of Sirius has stripped James of any shred of free will he still had in himself, his brain shutting down automatically and his breaths coming short.

“Fine,” he says, shakily, and discards his Cloak on the floor.

James reaches for his wand. Sirius mirrors him.

James pulls it out. Sirius pulls his out.

James halts. This isn’t it, this doesn’t feel _right_ , it doesn’t feel like a proper duel. James doesn’t _want_ to fight. He doesn’t want any more trouble. He wants... he wants…

But then he looks at him and he’s reminded again of what separated them in the first place. Sirius’s idiocy, his murderous personality. All of it James couldn’t have done anything about.

He lets his wand drop to the floor. It clatters and rolls away, the sound echoing hollowly all around them.

Sirius’s lowers his wand uncertainly.

Frustration and anger and the pent-up feeling of utter _loss_ course through James’s body, a sudden surge of energy clicking the switch into fight mode. He doesn’t care if he looks stupid, hilarious, insane, striding blindly in the direction of Sirius, who for the record still has his wand in his grasp.

He doesn’t care that he’s all _muggle lunatic_ now, all flying fists and hard skin and determinedly no magic, when he sinks one ugly punch into Sirius’s chest and then another into his stomach.

Sirius staggers back but doesn’t give out a single noise, almost like he was _expecting_ James to explode like that, and James can’t take his fucking _cleverness_ anymore. He half screams and half sobs, not quite sure of what he wants from Sirius or from himself for that matter, as he continues to strike the flat of his palms down onto Sirius’s front over and over in raw emotion. It doesn’t seem to hurt much, based on Sirius’s reaction or lack thereof. He just _stands_ there, taking in strike after shattering strike onto his body, his arms falling limply at his sides even while he holds his fucking _wand_. He’s just _there,_ silent, ready for the next blow and then the next, until James just looks like some ridiculous bloke trying and failing to upset an inanimate punching bag—until he looks like some ridiculous _girl,_ dealing with _heartbreak_ or some other weird girly shit _._ Which only makes James’s last futile grip on rationality slip away.

His body starts shaking in less and less controlled sobs and the inside of his mind is all _red,_ wailing in pain and confusion and incomprehensible, never-ending madness. His arms are screaming, begging James to stop, and then he’s finally _stopping_ …

The impacts on his palms are lighter, the sounds fainter, the sobs giving way to embarrassing whimpers. His shoulders shifting half-heartedly, his arms flailing carelessly, rather like a show of frustration than like he’s really _acting_ on frustration. Like how _girls_ hit other girls.

Self-hatred begins to climb its way into James’s mind, only the situation is so pathetic it doesn’t quite make it there. James wants to laugh at himself, at Sirius, at everything.

After what feels like half a lifetime, James finally feels himself giving in. His body catches up with his mind and after a curt nod of acknowledgement, releases its hold on him. He immediately starts to slump toward the floor, only Sirius is there to catch him, his arms trapping his shoulders and his pounded-up chest pressing firmly into his forehead.

“James,” he whispers, hesitantly, like he’s asking for permission to continue. He doesn’t.

It’s like James is a different person now. All he’d wanted a second ago was to hurt, to let go, to _move._ To make Sirius _see_ what he really did, not just to Moony or to Snape but to _James,_ how he made him feel all confused and mad and just fucking _worried_ because even after all that happened he couldn’t quite let go of him. Now, that energy has finished going down the drain and all that he feels is this horrible, empty _sadness,_ like the world has finally eaten at his purpose or motivation or whatever they call it these days, his fucking _mind,_ and all he has left is his exhausted, useless body, currently sagging and trembling against the boy he’s supposed to be _hating._

Sirius’s robes smell like day-old sweat and James has his face tucked against it but it’s frankly not so unpleasant. The feel of him against him—he’d forgotten how exactly comforting it was, how _warm._ He breathes in slowly and breathes out even slower, eyes screwing shut and postponing the moment when he has to come back to reality like he knows he should, has to shout at Sirius, hate Sirius, _forget_ about Sirius.

“Come back to the dorm.”

“No,” Sirius says, somehow thinking he has the right to seem _sad_.

“Come back to the _dorm!_ ”

“No.”

James twists his head violently and shakes himself out of Sirius’s clutch, back to crude reality.

One last shove, just one more.

Sirius stumbles back and his eyes are wide, apologetic, as his mouth opens in an attempt to—

Attempt to _what,_ James doesn’t know, because he chooses that moment to leave.

 

***

 

“So… you just _left?_ ”

Remus’s tone is judgmental, all _I-can’t-believe-you_ and _I-can’t-believe-I’m-actually-friends-with-you_.

“Look, I know how it _sounds_ like. Like, like—“

“Yeah, like you banged him up into a pulp and then left him for no good reason? Isn’t that exactly what happened?”

“No! Well, _yeah,_ but…”

James licks his lips and ducks back into his textbook.

“James—“

“Don’t _James_ me.”

“ _James._ You’re being an _idiot.”_

James chooses to focus on something else, someone _else_ who’s being annoying.

“What are you staring at, Wormtail?”

 

***

 

The thing is, James _knows_ he’s being an idiot. He’s not _that_ thick, as though he gets off on hurting his ex-boyfriend. He wonders if Sirius _is_ his ex now, even though they never got to officially ending it… He wonders if he _wants_ him to be his ex, wants himself to be Sirius’s ex.

 _Ex._ Just that syllable sounds disgusting, weird, not up to par at all with what Sirius and James are… _were_. Dismissively nostalgic. _Those were the good times._ Chuckle.

James _hates_ it, he hates it so much that he’s almost ready to forgive Sirius for everything— _almost._ After all, how bad could it really have been if Remus already forgave him? Had already forgiven him right after he heard about it? Never mind that Remus forgives everyone for everything; the miserable lone wolf would sacrifice anything for a single friend. Speaking of, Remus is being such a ridiculous bastard now, accusing _James_ for not catching up with Sirius— _really?_ Is _James_ the one people should be judging?

And that’s when he stumbles upon the _book._

 

 ***

 

It’s entirely by accident—well not _really_. The part where he comes up to the Tower by himself again is not by accident. He’s conscious of having chosen to go there. More accurately, his body not listening to him and making the decision to go there.

But finding the _book_ is by accident.

Sirius has set up a whole fucking camp there. The next class coming up to the observatory for stargazing would scratch their heads for sure, what with the rumpled up sleeping bag, the bedside lamp turned into a floor lamp, the fucking shade, as if he spends the _day_ here, even—well, that at least would explain his total disappearance during the entirety of last weekend.

And then, the book. Sitting there innocently, like a favorite bedtime fairytale or like a ten-year-old girl’s diary. But it just so happens to be the least innocent book imaginable, what with the rich, all-too-familiar stamp labeled, _Restricted Section_.

 

_Allure of the Dark Arts_

 

James rips through the pages.

 

_Introduction_

 

_This volume attempts to serve as a valuable beginner’s insight into the wonders and implications of the Dark Arts, as well as a guide to some of the simpler hexes, curses, and torture methods, which nonetheless continuously prove to be useful to even the most experienced—_

 

_—The realm of the Dark Arts is deceivingly complex, albeit fascinating at first glance—_

 

_The Cruciatus Curse_

 

_—What is presently known as one of the most common forms of torture could be dated back to—_

 

_The Inferius_

 

_—One would likely choose to produce an Inferius proceeding a successful conquer of a powerful—_

 

James is gasping like he’s flown a mile.

He drops the book at some point and kicks it into a wall. Runs down the spiral staircase so fast that he’s almost falling, crashing, spinning over. Tears the hem of the Map in his rush to take it out, scans it for the bloody psychopath, the _betrayer—_

Sirius Black’s name hovers innocently over at the dungeons, right in front of the Slytherin dormitory. And right next to it, Regulus Black _._

 

***

 

“You don’t know what it can do _,_ people go _mad_ from it! It doesn’t just _hurt,_ when the Cruciatus is used on you too much you get _manipulated!_ ”

“For the last fucking time, Sirius, they’re not going to do it to _me!”_

“You don’t _know_ that! You don’t fucking know anything! You don’t know what you’re getting into—you’re—what? Fifteen?”

“ _Sixteen,_ for _fuck’s_ sake! Go mind your own business—don’t you have a boyfriend you’ve been neglecting?” Regulus spits, then glares in James’s direction.

Sirius’s head whips around. His eyes narrow.

“What the fuck—“

“I might ask _you_ , what the fuck. _”_

Regulus uses the miraculous timing to stroll away.

Sirius huffs at his brother’s retreating figure. He turns to scowl at James properly.

“Look, if you only came here to enjoy the show, I still have to tend to my _brother—“_

“In fact, I came here to talk.”

James glares, heart beating wildly and fists clenching. To be honest, he doesn’t really want to talk, not if what he’s thinking is actually _true—_ but he’s got to find out. He has to, or he’d feel like this forever, like some animal is clawing at his guts, eating away at his doubt and the awful hunch of _suspicion_.

Sirius waits, fuming.

“Are you—planning on joining _Voldemort?”_ James blurts.

A beat.

Sirius goggles at him like he’s some kind of massive joke; a clown, complete with a curly blond wig and a bloated nose.

“What the actual fuck?”

James suddenly feels kind of stupid.

“I mean, you—well, for one—“ he stutters.

Sirius’s mouth hangs open and gawks. Seems like his painful indifference toward James is temporarily suspended.

“Your book—Dark Magic—“

“Oh— _what!_ You don’t mean _Allure of the Dark Arts?_ ”

“Yes! That! How do you explain _that?”_

Sirius arches his eyebrows.

“You were going through my stuff.”

“Going through? Fucking— _going through?_ You had it sprawled right beside your _sleeping bag,_ for god’s sake! Anyone would have thought it was some sort of bedtime story, a bit of entertainment before bed or something—“ James stops short at the expression on Sirius’s face.

“ _Entertainment?”_

Sirius’s face is pale as parchment. Eyes wide with pure incredulity.

“N-no, I mean—“

He means _what?_ Of course he doesn’t _actually_ believe Sirius is an aspiring Death Eater—does he? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know anything, he isn’t even sure of _Sirius_ —

“You honestly think I read that for entertainment?” Sirius says quietly. Sirius’s accusing tone chilling the corridor, hushing the curious bystanders.

James pulls at his hair.

“No, well, I don’t know—but then for _what? What_ in the world was I supposed to deduce, then, huh?”

Sirius’s jaws are pronounced—James swears he can _hear_ those teeth grinding—

“ _Regulus_ handed it to me, alright?” Sirius shouts. “He wants me to read it, he wants to persuade me, _do you get it?_ He fucking wants me to _join him_ on Voldemort’s cause, and I was trying to talk him out of it, doing my own research and shit—because you know what, he may be fucked up and spoiled and practically the most infuriating _mummy’s boy_ , but he’s my fucking brother, alright, and I have to make sure he’s not going to throw away his life like that—murder oblivious muggles in cold blood and eventually get _himself_ in some sort of skirmish and get killed! You wanted an explanation, right? Well, there you go, are you happy, now? Will that convince you that I’m not a fucking _Death Eater—_ really, of all _things—_ or do I need to actually show you my pretty _arm_ so you can see for yourself?”

Sirius doesn’t wait for an answer, just yanks back his left sleeve up to the elbow, sticks it out in full display and bares his teeth daringly at James.

Obviously, there’s no mark on Sirius’s skin. It’s as pale and smooth as ever, a few tiny moles scattered across like cute little stars. James’s stomach squirms in sickly guilt. He looks back up at Sirius’s face, parting his mouth in silent words of—of what? Apology? _Sorry I didn’t know?_

Troubled, James shuffles forward, closer. Sirius still has his cuff tugged back absently, his hand stilled at his elbow. Face turned up in defiance and a pinch of hurt as he gazes at the approaching face, almost transfixed.

They’re less than a foot apart when something clicks into place.

“Is that why you sent Snape after Moony?”

Sirius swallows surreptitiously.

“Is it?” James repeats. “Was Snape persuading… _recruiting_ Regulus?”

Sirius licks his lips. Merlin, those _lips…_ when’s the last time James touched them?

“So what if he was?”

Fuck, just why is Sirius being so _difficult?_

James continues to glide toward him, remembering and implementing all the physical seduction tips he’d acquired when he used to flirt with girls. He sees it working: Sirius’s eyes are steadily darkening, his lips already parting.

“It would explain a lot,” James breathes, then kisses him softly.

Sirius is still and cool against him, not pulling away but not reciprocating. Just in this sort of standstill, uncertainty and indifference keeping his posture rigid, as though he’s not being kissed by the boy of his fucking _wet dreams_ after days—nearly a _week—_ of yearning.

James’s plans to shove a hand inside Sirius’s robes all but dissolves. He pulls back and blinks dumbly.

Sirius is looking at him strangely, almost _guardedly,_ and James feels himself shiver in all the wrong places.

“Sirius?”

Sirius reaches out to touch his jaw fleetingly, curiously. The contact is a spark of interest, a lightning-fast peek into what may or may not happen. James’s eyes flutter.

“You…You want to kiss me?” Sirius murmurs hoarsely.

James’s breath catches and he feels like stumbling over, the question is so blindingly _stupid_. 

“What—yeah, yes, _of course,_ why would you bloody _ask_ that?”

Sirius’s fingers slide across until they reach James’s nape.

Sirius hums. “Maybe because you haven’t done it for the past week?”

James grabs Sirius’s shoulders.

“That’s _different._ It’s different this time. Why would you—you’re—I know now, I understand everything, and quite frankly—I’m ready to put it behind us. I mean, aren’t we both?” James says urgently.

Sirius visibly relaxes, shoulder muscles unravelling. His lips curl back and his teeth show a gorgeous, lopsided smirk as he locks James’s head into his warm, warm chest.

 

***

 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Later that night, when the common room is empty save for the two of them, James finally brings himself to ask.

He’s lying on the common room carpet, head resting lazily on Sirius’s lap.

Sirius’s fingers stall on James’s scalp.

“What, about Reg?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius glances down and meets James’s eyes. He looks conflicted—the lined furrow in his forehead and the subtle way he bites those lips, red from too much kissing.

“Well… Reg isn’t a horrible kid, okay? He’s just—he’s _gullible._ I didn’t want anyone to think—I didn’t want you to think—“ He dashes a tongue across his lips nervously.

“That you care about him?” James offers.

Sirius looks at him oddly.

James figures he’s at least partly correct. He sits up so that now he’s plumped on Sirius’s lap.

“Si, I don’t judge you for caring about your brother, you know that, right? Honestly, no one does. He’s your _brother_.”

Sirius’s gaze starts to shift down, but James cradles Sirius’s head in his hands to stop him.

“I know,” Sirius mumbles, shrugs. “It’s just—I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? I left my home, I don’t give a flying fuck about my parents anymore—it’s just Regulus, for some reason. I don’t know, it’s just him. I guess I still…” Grey eyes survey James’s, looking for something, looking lost.

“Love him?”

“I don’t know.”

James is straddled against Sirius now, leaning against him, who in turn leans back against the foot of the couch. He grabs his chin, thumb tracing the faint foreshadow of stubble.

“That’s okay.”

Sirius looks relieved, and James realizes Sirius needed to hear that more than he thought he did. Even though it’s nothing to James—he wouldn’t care whether or not Sirius loved his brother and felt like he had to protect him, for all his brainwash and misguided biases. He wouldn’t care if Regulus held hands with Voldemort or got a pet basilisk or went against Sirius and James’s every fucking _principle_ of life and still left Sirius feeling heartbroken.

“That’s okay, Si,” James says again, just because he can, and the soft, insecure but grateful expression on Sirius makes his chest surge. He kisses his forehead. He kisses his nose.

The feel of Sirius’s short, aroused breaths on his chin, his neck, startles his hips into action. He shifts against him, rubbing his groin against Sirius’s firm stomach, suddenly mindless, breathless, desperate.

“Si—oh fuck, _Sirius_ —I bloody fucking _missed_ you—“ James stammers, his whole body a gasping, shapeless mess, pushing, rutting.

Sirius’s eyes transform from grey to black in a matter of seconds as he stares at James, this beautiful, _mesmerized_ stare, and James can feel his length filling up quickly to match his own helpless erection.

“I missed you, I missed you—"

“I missed you, too,” Sirius whispers, and all but allows James to snog the burning  _stars_ out of him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change of plan: I decided to end this fic in maybe an additional chapter or two.  
> The actual long fic that I'd been screaming about will be published separately, which will take place after Hogwarts!


	4. Entertainment - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, smut. And a plot as an excuse for smut.

Right after Remus and Peter leave for the library, Sirius demands that he and James watch the match from the Slytherins’ stands.

James does a double take.

“What, you defecting to Gryffindor now?”

“Drama Queen,” Sirius huffs. “I’m not _defecting_ to anything - Gryffindor isn’t even playing, you arsehole. I’m just watching the match from a different angle. Keep yourself in your cozy little comfort zone if you want, but I’m thirsty for a change. _”_

James thinks very hard until it hits him clear as daylight: Today is Regulus Black’s first match.

As a single child, siblings are a mysterious realm to him, altogether made more mysterious by Sirius’s love-hate relationship with his brother. But if Sirius’s secretly-caring-brother-mode isn’t the most endearing out of the wide variety of his ‘modes,’ James doesn’t know what is.

The boy in concern is currently looking at him all weird, a little incredulous, and James realizes he’s grinning a bit too much. Deciding he must act, he takes Sirius’s Gryffindor scarf off a chair and reaches across to drape it around his neck.

“What are you doing,” Sirius blurts.

“I could become one of those fashion people, you know, forget the Order…” James muses, completely ignoring the question. “Make people look good, like what’s-her-name, Madam Malkins…”

James has always loved just how _special_ the vivid Gryffindor colors make his boyfriend look. While ticking all the boxes for the sharp Black features - stunning grey eyes, smooth hair, high cheekbones - the red and gold give all of them a little something, a _spark,_ as if to showcase to the world the sole miraculous Gryffindor in a gigantic family of Slytherins.

“What are you staring at?”

“Hey, is it so wrong to stare at my _stunning_ boyfriend?”

James bites back a girly giggle and proceeds to wrap the scarf around Sirius’s neck, slowly, enjoying every moment.

“They suit you, you know, red and gold… bravery and chivalry. Sirius Black, the Gryffindor Black…” James chants under his breath.

Sirius looks alarmed by now.

“ _James?”_

James smirks. “Hush, Sirius, just let me… We’ll be the only Gryffindors in a sea of ugly Slytherin green, we’ve got to put on a fucking _show.”_

 

The Quidditch Pitch looks different from this side. The sun hits a different way, and the Slytherin snake mascots hiss from very close, like how real snakes would hiss just before striking.

The air they choose to occupy is not merely unfriendly, it’s _mean,_ it’s a fucking reptile _glass case_ it’s so cold and imprisoning.

“What are you scheming about, now, Black?” Some bloke jeers. “Getting the Dark Mark? You need more than cheering for the Slytherin Quidditch team for that - take off that revolting scarf, for starters!”

A girl smiles faux-sympathetically, leaning in. “I’m sorry, but you _do_ know your cute little brother isn’t going to appreciate this?”

Her girlfriends giggle in a painfully high pitch.

“Wait till his brother sends him a fat old bludger!”

Sirius’s sneer deepens an inch.

James frowns.

“Are you really sure about this, Si?”  
“What, you think I wasn’t expecting this?” Sirius suddenly looks angry, whipping around, hair-ends smacking James’s cheek. “You think some bitter Slytherin acquaintances would make me think _twice?_ Are you _mental,_ Potter?”

James closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“No need to get all moody at _me,_ Black.”

 

While they’re not paying attention, the game’s already begun.

Sirius’s eyes hurriedly fix on something specific in the sky. There’s a little frown hidden between his eyes underneath the thick facade of nonchalance, and James looks up to see why.

Regulus’s nervousness is obvious even from this distance. James supposes he himself looked like that too, back in his very first match. The inexperienced Slytherin beater is downright _wobbling_ on top of his thin, brand-new broom, head tilted a little downward to keep from nauseating, knees shifting restlessly up and down, arms shaking his beater’s bat aimlessly like a toddler flinging around a toy wand.

“He’s alright,” James whispers.

“No, he’s not,” Sirius snaps. “Would you _stop_ that?”

James knows Sirius is just nervous, but nervous Sirius isn’t something he’s used to. And James has his fucking limits, too.

The jeers around them suddenly grow louder as some Hufflepuff chaser scores.

“Black could’ve _easily_ hit him!”

“I mean, did you _see_ that ridiculous Bludger he threw - was it even _aimed_ in that loser’s direction?”

Sirius shifts beside James, crossing his arms and determinedly ignoring his immediate surroundings. Just sort of narrows his eyes at his poor little brother.

In the meantime, James’s eardrums are about to explode, and his charming, calm, sane-boyfriend-attitude is a few extra cracks from breaking down.

He’s being pounded too thin like a hammered eggshell. Smoke is already rising from his ears.

 

The Hufflepuffs win, which obviously excite the Slytherins - in a bad way.

“Are you _extra_ sure you didn’t hex your brother, Black? We’ve always got Veritaserum…”

“He did look a little peaky on that stringy old broom, didn’t ‘e?”

Their laughter rather sounds like neighbors’ dogs barking.

James decides he has to _do_ something. He’s a fucking Gryffindor for fuck’s sake, and what’s a Gryffindor if they can’t stand up for themselves and their friends?

He glares around, catches a handful of familiar bully-eyes.

“Why don’t you bastards shut the _fuck_ up, because it’s really miserable, it really is, how you’re blaming someone _else_ just ‘cause you cowards can’t bloody admit to yourselves your team was just disorganized and _very obviously_ poorly trained?”

There’s a collective _ooohhhh_ that he doesn’t quite hear, but rather feels.

“Must be _nice_ to have the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a boyfriend, huh?” A willowy girl whispers, very much audibly. “I mean, they look out for you, get into messy arguments for you, they even defend your incompetent _sibling_ …”

“And plus, they suck your _dick_ …” A bloke adds.

They throw their heads back to guffaw.

For a split second, James thinks Sirius will act. It’s common knowledge that while James _is_ Sirius’s boyfriend, they’re also the fiercest pair of rivals in school: the glorious team captain and the tag-along beater, the straight-O student and the attractive prankster, the spoiled, rich single-child and the abused, disowned older brother. Sirius would literally _die_ before he let anyone judge him as lesser than James.

But then -

“You can stop that.”

A shorter, more clumsy version of Sirius Black is standing smack in the middle of the circle of sniggering Slytherins.

James gasps, raises his eyebrows at Sirius.

Sirius looks scandalized.

“I wasn’t _incompetent,_ Parkinson.” Regulus says smoothly, rounding on the thin Slytherin girl.

Her eyes are wide, awed, somewhat amused- Clearly, this isn’t something she’s used to.

“And my team wasn’t _poorly trained,”_ Regulus steps up to James, glaring icy darts at him.

It’s the first time Regulus has _ever_ talked to James. Until now, James didn’t even know that Regulus knew he _existed,_ despite him being the most popular guy at school and all.

James gapes dumbly.

“I… er… sure...”

He might as well have not said anything, though, because Regulus isn’t paying attention. Now, he stands before his taller, slimmer brother, with an expressionless face that’s somehow scarily vulnerable.

“Good job,” Sirius mutters, sincerely.

Regulus blinks, then rolls his eyes, and James thinks he catches a small smile somewhere in there.

“Yeah, right. I didn’t come to you for compliments, though. I’ve got a request.”

Sirius straightens himself.

“If this is another one of your _campaigns_ again -“

“It’s not a _campaign,_ ” Regulus snaps. “Fucking - _‘campaigns’ -_ I’m just asking for some assistance, for god’s sake. Some goodhearted beater’s training from my dear old brother.”

Sirius’s face breaks into a hearty, full-faced grin, and he laughs a bit, and suddenly all of the scowling, spiteful Slytherins around James are squeezed out from existence. James can worship that wicked grin to death.

“You want me to… _teach_ you?” Sirius says disbelievingly, laughing, goggling at the flame-faced Regulus.

“If it’s such a _ridiculous_ idea to you -“

“Who says it’s ridiculous? Merlin, it’s brilliant! Getting _me,_ Sirius fucking Black, to coach you on Quidditch is about the most brilliant idea your daft brain has ever come up with -“

Regulus shoves his chest, hard.

Watching them tackle each other to the ground, James is suffused with a pleasant, giddy warmth. The older brother is so happy he’s positively _shaking_ with laughter by the time James pulls him off the ground and drags him back to the castle, all bright-eyed and hopeful and altogether making incomprehensible the way he’s usually shaking his head, “my brother’s a total stranger.”

 

James can’t even wait until they reach their dorm, they have to do it _now_ or he’ll fucking explode _._

“James? What are you…?”

_“Ssh.”_

The urge is so present, so palpable, his entire body is already alight with arousal and the very near possibility of seeing Sirius naked in his current extraordinarily bubbly state.

He bangs the door shut so that the only light seeping into the dingy broom cupboard is from the tiny high window, and James can only _just_ make out Sirius’s lips parting as he pushes him into a wall, drags him down onto the floor.

“ _James_ …”

“Hey, you gotta be quiet,” James murmurs placatingly, fingers already busying themselves with Sirius’s belt. “Don’t want to get caught being naughty, do we?”

Sirius’s eyes widen, the whites glazing.

“You’re going to be naughty? _”_

“ _We’re_ going to be naughty.”

“In _here?”_ Far from ridiculing, Sirius actually sounds _aroused_ just by that pure idea, like fucking in a broom cupboard is an exotic, absolutely mouth-watering concept to him and not something they practiced every day back in their early days.

James swoons on the spot, climbs onto Sirius’s lap and straddles him tight.

“In here.”

 

Within blinding moments, Sirius’s spit-coated finger is breaking into James’s arse, making him shiver and gasp and grab urgently at Sirius’s shoulders.

“Fuck, fuck, Sirius, _now…”_

“Not yet,” Sirius’s whisper is smothered against James’s neck, raspy breath teasing soft skin. Finger curling and pressing _unforgivingly_ into James’s sweet spot.

James bites his tongue, hard, suppressing a moan and wetting his eyes, rubbing wantonly against Sirius’s hard-on and around Sirius’s stilled finger.

“ _Now,”_ he gasps, slipping in a threatening tone. _“Sirius.”_

Sirius yanks at James’s scarf and heaves him into a heated kiss, chuckling deeply, “not yet, sweetheart,” as if his boner can fucking _wait_ for even a second longer than James’s can, calmly sliding in another digit into his desperate arse.

James has to bite down on Sirius’s lip to keep from crying out _loud_. The hot, striking sensation on his prostate intensified by the semi-dark, suffocating restrictiveness of the cupboard, the feel of Sirius’s sharp, aroused breaths brushing that bit of tender skin right under his chin, the cut-short moans that escape Sirius’s mouth every time their naked cocks so much as _brush_.

To distract himself from climaxing unacceptably too early, James tugs at the hem of Sirius’s robe and flips it up. Sirius complies automatically, helping him getting rid of his clothing, moaning all over the place when James runs his hands across his naked front up and down repeatedly, rapidly. Gasping obscenely when James’s finger brushes against the tip of his cock.

“Gotta be quiet, remember?” James whisper-breathes into Sirius’s ear, circles his thumbs around his nipples. “Can’t get caught -“

“As if _you’re_ keeping your goddamn noises to yourself,” Sirius snaps. Gives out anotherincredibly emphatic moan when James’s hand closes around his cock, it almost sounds like it’s on _purpose._

“Fuck, oh, you -“ Sirius gasps as he arches himself up, unconsciously forcing his fingers deeper into James’s arse until they hit his prostate _raw_.

All of a sudden, those long, delicious fingers are gone, and before a whimper can escape him at the insufferable _emptiness_ , his arse is slowly being entered by Sirius’s thick, absolutely _leaking_ cock.

Sirius groans heavily and suddenly James is gifted with the hottest, most appropriate, _best_ idea possible. He snatches at his own scarf and unwraps it hastily, ignoring the confused look Sirius gives him as his arse gets filled up to the limit, tight and delicious and _full_. He finally gets the stuffy Gryffindor scarf off himself, leans closer.

“Hey.”

Shifting his hips a bit, he lets the inside of his arse squeeze tightly around Sirius’s cock, dragging a moan out of Sirius's gaping mouth like he couldn’t keep it inside even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be _bothered_.

“Oh fuck, James, _what are you waiting for?_ ” Sirius nearly _cries_ that last bit, he’s apparently stretched too tight, wants it so much and wants it right at this moment. _“Ride it, for fuck’s sake!”_

And James begins, slowly, agonizingly. Not so much riding as _paddling,_ really - the way he manages it all smooth, all the while reveling in the feel of Sirius’s cock stimulating and igniting every fucking atom in his tight arse, relishing every musical note that escapes Sirius’s abandoned lips, high and low, before he grabs a handful of hisown scarf and stuffs it in Sirius's mouth.

_“Mmph!”_

Sirius’s eyes snap open, large and somewhat confused and definitely _angry._ Gagging is something they haven’t tried before, but it’s such a refreshing, _amazing_ addition to their overused sex routine that it makes James drool like a baby, and _he_ isn’t the one being gagged. Sirius looks about seconds away from growing magical shit like fangs and horns and god-knows-what, his glare is so menacing as it darts into James’s hypnotized gaze.

“You _can_ spit it out you know, it’s not like I’ve got your wrists tied down…” James mutters coaxingly, fingers sliding up to curl lightly around Sirius’s smooth, pale wrists, just as a _suggestion -_ just a hint at a would-be, a hidden animal desire dormant in them both.

Sirius’s wrists twitch and his entire body positively _shivers_. He cries out in the best of his ability around his gag as he jerks his groin up, snapping his rock-hard cock into James’s arse and slams back down before pushing up again, looking as if he’s momentarily forgotten about the uncomfortable obstacle in his throat or as if it couldn’t matter _less,_ or most likely, James hopes - looking as if he’s _liking_ it.

“Fucking holy Merlin, Sirius, you look as hot as _fuck_ like that - you should fucking _see_ yourself - wearing that _dazzling_ scarf, gagging on _my_ goddamn scarf - you like this, don’t you, huh? Making me feel all hot for you, looking -  _oh_ - so angry and so _submissive_ at the same time it drives me _nuts?_ ”

It starts off with minor vibrations - a little bit of writhing and under-suppressed jerking here and there. But when James gets to the part that goes, “you want it too, don’t you? That thing about tying your wrists down… it’s not at _all_ hypothetical…” Sirius’s entire body is positively shaking - his thighs supporting James’s bottom, his stomach as it gets pinched by James’s nails, his hands as they clasp onto James’s hair.

“You make me _proud -_ wearing vivid Gryffindor colors all around the castle - _ngh_ \- like you _own_ the place, but you belong to me, Sirius Black, you only belong to _me…”_

James has no idea what he’s blabbering on about, but at least he compensates with his sheer amount of confidence that he can hear it actually _oozing_ out of his own voice, can see the _effect_ it has on Sirius - writhing uncontrollably, muffled moans and sweaty forehead and drops of spit collecting from between gagging lips.

When James finally decides to speed up, Sirius is so worked up that he comes inside him within _seconds -_ and James _would_ tease about it if it weren’t so goddamn hot or he wasn’t so close to coming himself or Sirius’s hand hadn’t palmed his cock right then and there.

Pulling out from Sirius’s cock in a wanton rush, he curses incessantly and watches Sirius letting the bit of scarf fall off from his mouth, a shiny string of spit stretching and cutting off in slow motion and the inside of his mouth all red, all _spent_ as he lowers himself -

Sirius sucks. He sucks and sucks and James can’t do anything but _watch,_ bite on his tongue and curl his fingers into Sirius's obnoxiously smooth hair. The power he had only moments ago is all lost. Now, as he stares transfixed at the back of Sirius’s head currently bobbing and slurping up and down, only a hungry helpless desperation for Sirius’s mouth is left.

One final, clever little swirl of tongue and James is coming _fast,_ arching up to shove as much of it inside him as possible and catching him absolutely  _gagging_ again - this time not on his spoiled scarf but on his own godforsaken _cock_ \- before he squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head back and finally allows the singing pleasure to wash over himself in shuddery waves.

“What was all that about?” Sirius snickers after he’s finished swallowing.

James is staring a little too hard at the way he’s licking leftovers from the back of his hand.

“Huh?”

Sirius’s face inches apart from his own, warm and tingly and tender breath, his hair tickling his forehead.

“I said, what was all that about?”

“I dunno, just felt like it? Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

Sirius smirks. That self-assured smirking fashion usually annoys him, but today everything is different - everything is goodhearted and forgiving, not to mention _friendly_.

“I love you, Sirius.”

 

Remus’s eyes do a quick full-body check on the two of them for any and all creases and wrinkles in odd places before coming to a conclusion and proceeding to roll themselves.

“How was the match?” He asks nonchalantly.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” James chirps, settling into a spot beside Remus on the couch.

“I see you - _moved around -_ a lot - correct me if I’m wrong, but it was _Hufflepuff_ versus Slytherin? Not Gryffindor?” He asks way too politely.

Peter perks up and creases his brows in confusion.

“Cut it out, Moony, Wormtail is around,” James placates.

Peter’s successive “hey!” flies by unheeded as, at exactly the same time, James and Remus catch sight of Sirius’s half-hidden face and realize just how _red_ it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a loooong time. Apologies. Wouldn't be surprised if all my old readers had given up on me ;P
> 
> The game is still on, though - I will be starting a new chaptered fic involving these two post-Hogwarts very soon. Can't wait.


End file.
